


Not the Girl You See.

by Jem (letalloursingingfollowhim)



Category: We Are The Tigers - Allen
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, CONCERT WATT BABAYYY, Emotional, F/M, Give Farrah a Hug, Implied/Referenced Depression, Mention of Farrah kissing an older girl, Sad, Stan older brother Clark, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28816050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letalloursingingfollowhim/pseuds/Jem
Summary: Intended to be concert!Farrah & concert!Clark, but you don't have to have heard concert!watt before this because it mostly works for offbway!farrah & offbway!clark too!!Farrah is in 7th grade and it's just starting to get bad. She's scared, she cares too much, she wants to be a normal teenager like Annleigh. But yet, she isn't scared, she doesn't care at all to the path she's falling down, she's accepted this as what her fate is.Basically: Farrah comes home way too late from a party, worries her family and has a heart to heart with Clark.Massive thanks to my friend Azalea (tumblr user @/one-time-i-jumped-off-a-cliff) for the plot idea and some dialogue!!
Relationships: Clark & Farrah (We Are The Tigers)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Not the Girl You See.

**Author's Note:**

> WATTFICWATTFICWATTFIC.
> 
> Also, Farrah's middle name is Elizabeth and her last name is Clark because I said so. Also also, I know Farrah is canonically two years younger than Clark, but I headcanon concert!Farrah specifically to have had to repeat 8th grade (so she starts in the same grade as Annleigh but repeats her 8th grade year as Annleigh goes onto 9th, while Clark goes to 10th and Farrah stays in 8th)!
> 
> Also! Way more dialogue heavy than usual.
> 
> Enjoy lool.

The moon barely lit the gravel path in front of Farrah as she stumbled the route back to her house, shivering in the biting cold. Farrah had regretted the cropped shirt and shorts with fishnets within moments of leaving the house – it was so cold in early spring and she had to walk from her house to the party and back again, not risking asking her parents to take her. In addition to the freezing outfit she donned, her heeled shoes had been rubbing into her ankles for hours and the soles of her feet were beginning to ache. Alongside her, Farrah carried a small bag that contained an empty bottle of Smirnoff and her phone that had been buzzing for the past two hours. However, Farrah hadn’t checked her phone once, but it didn’t really matter, her family knew she’d come home anyway. No one really cared.

The walk back home was long and tiring, and Farrah was already starting to feel the pulls of exhaustion as she headed through the last block. While her phone was on and she hadn’t checked her messages, she had also failed the check the time and she was sure her hands were now too freezing and shaking to properly hold her phone to look at the time. Nevertheless, it was dark outside. She still felt as if she was swimming, light and dizzy from the alcohol. There had been no point in keeping a track of how much she had had because she knew she’d just disappoint herself.

Farrah tried to bite back the sickening feeling of regret as she turned onto her street, the only light coming from the O’Daniel’s home. Farrah found her father standing by the doorway, a terrified look plastered on his face. Questions raced through her mind. Why did he suddenly care? It wasn’t as if it was the first time she had gone out. In fact, Farrah had gotten good at going to parties and coming back just in time. Farrah considered turning back around, no point in going back home if everyone was going to be angry with her.

“Farrah Elizabeth Clarke!” Farrah’s father shouted, his voice more broken than angry, drained from the worry of his “missing” daughter. “Do you know what time this is?”

Farrah, in the moment, held her head high in hopes it wouldn’t make her look as small or as regretful as she felt, sauntered past him into the hallway, ignoring his attempt to question her. Fear panged in her chest as she glanced into the sitting room, Annleigh, her step-mother, Clark and his family sat in various ends of the room, looking worn out and exhausted. The clock shone two in the morning – her family had expected her home by eleven thirty at the latest.

“Oh my God, Farrah!” her step-mother began, tear stained eyes and a phone in her hands. “I was just about ready to phone the police! Where have you been?” Her voice cracked on the work “been”.

Annleigh looked up too, tears still falling down her face as Farrah failed to reply, overwhelmed by how much it seemed that people cared suddenly. Her family hadn’t much cared where she had been before, or the state she had come home in, let alone had been so worried that they had to call Clark and his family for support. Of course, it was a little later than usual, but Farrah didn’t care - so why should her family?

“Farrah…. I“, Annleigh began before her voice trailed off.

“Where were you?” her dad asked as he stepped into the room, terrified rage briefly crossed his face.

“Party,” Farrah replied. Her family had assumed it was a small get together with friends, and Farrah knew she was digging herself a hole by being so uncooperative.

“You said you’d be home by eleven thirty at the latest! Farrah, it’s two in the morning – do you know how worried we were?” her father continued.

“I don’t care about the time,” Farrah replied, her voice steady and uncaring despite how her skin prickled and her chest ached in guilt. 

“Farrah, dear God. You’re barely thirteen, we thought you’d gotten kidnapped or murdered or-“ He got cut off by the sounds of Annleigh’s sobs, she seemed so worried and Farrah couldn’t bear to see it, to know she caused this. Farrah didn’t like Annleigh, she was so perfect, but still, remorse ate away at Farrah.

“You don’t usually care…” Farrah said slowly, filled with poison.

“Don’t you dare say that of co-”

“Fuck off,” Farrah hissed, turning on her heel and heading straight for the backdoor.

“Farrah Elizabeth Clarke, don’t even think about it.” Farrah heard just before she settled outside, sitting down on the disused swing set that had been Annleigh’s years ago. It must have looked nice back when Annleigh would play on it - pinks and yellow, Farrah imagined. Now it looked copper and grey from years of rust and worn away paint.

Farrah felt sick as she sat down. She wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol she’d drunk, exhaustion, or the sheer nature of the situation she was now in – she assumed all three. They’d almost called the police on… on her. The swing beside her blew gently in the light breeze as she pushed herself with her feet, her feet scraping at the dust of the ground. Farrah let a few tears fall down her hot cheeks. Farrah had always been considered strong – strong, assertive, coarse… she’d never been seen as someone who would cry or feel down on themselves. But she was. Farrah could see the way she was headed; how bad this problem could become unless she stopped. The only problem was that she wasn’t sure that she necessarily wanted to stop drinking, or partying, or staying out late. There was something about the headrush and the weightlessness to everything that she craved, would do anything for the rush she felt after a few drinks and a party. It let her let go off the expectations needlessly placed upon her, let her feel something fun.

Her parents had never cared much about how late she had been before, but she had usually tried to stick to the approved time, always telling her parents that a friend’s mother would drop her back home. This time, however, Farrah couldn’t. She had been invited to a high schooler’s party, promised alcohol and excitement. There wasn’t a point to resisting the offer (and she hadn’t wanted to, she just needed to make an excuse to her parents), it sounded fantastic, and it had been, Farrah had been overjoyed. However, the time eleven thirty rang in her head as she had gotten the first text message, the first call; but she had pushed it away, ignored the pings and vibrations from her phone and kept drinking, kept flirting with people who were much older than her, kept having fun. It wasn’t until the last few people were leaving and the party was dying down, that Farrah decided it was probably a good idea to leave too. Exhaustion hit her the second she left onto the street, but it had been worth it, she didn’t care about the consequences at the time. And she wasn’t entirely sure she much cared about them now either.

Farrah knew she fucked up and she knew she wouldn’t be allowed out again. The trust had been broken the moment she didn’t return the text messages and calls, when she didn’t arrive home at the approved time. Her parents would probably find out that the party hadn’t been a few school friends or that she wasn’t getting dropped off by parents either and find out that the vague address Farrah had given was nowhere near where the party truly was. Fresh, angry tears sprang to her eyes, pooling onto her shirt.

Farrah wasn’t sure how long she had been gently pushing herself on the rusting swing, but it was long enough for Clark, who had been silent in the living room, to come outside.

“Hey,” Clark started, earning no reply nor a glance up from Farrah. “I brought you some water and chips…”

Farrah didn’t respond again, however, she stopped pushing herself in the swing and looked up towards Clark. Clark was Annleigh’s boyfriend, and he had been since last year. It was coming up on exactly a year since they’d started dating, and Annleigh still hadn’t kissed him and their hands barely touched. Farrah didn’t understand why; she had kissed someone that night. She hadn’t known her name, her grade, or anything, really, other than the fact she tasted like cherry lipstick and Malibu with coke.

“Do you want some company?” Clark asked quietly, shrugging his jacket off. Farrah hadn’t said anything about being cold, but it was a freezing outfit and she wasn’t wearing much to keep her warm, and so Clark draped his thick jacket around Farrah’s shoulders. Farrah didn’t protest, silently grateful for the warmth.

“Go for it,” Farrah replied finally, her tone with venom, eyes not meeting Clark’s.

“You’re not, you know.”

“Not what?”

“Selfish, a failure, stupid. You’re none of them, Farrah.”

Farrah let out a short, unamused laugh. “Sure.” Farrah replied. She didn’t know if she believed them or not, or if she made herself not believe them because it was easier to be better than everyone than to face how she felt and to be seen as weak.

“Really, Farr, you aren’t.”

“Don’t call me Farr,” Farrah snapped, harsher than she truly meant it to sound. “And I know I’m not.”

Clark nodded. “Do you really believe that you’re not?

“Jesus Christ, Clark. Do you really feel the need to interrogate me?”

Clark fell silent for a moment, taking a seat in the other swing beside Farrah and setting the food and drink in front of him. He remembered playing on those swings with Annleigh when they were young, how they’d race each other to see who could swing higher and faster than the other one. And now here he was, trying to talk a drunk thirteen year old down from the emotional cliff’s edge where she stood, Annleigh distraught inside.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clark spoke next, drawing a breath, hoping it wouldn’t upset Farrah further.

“No,” she hesitated, her tone wary.

“Okay.” Clark began before drawing another breath. “Are you sure?”

At that, Farrah shook her head. “I don’t fucking know. Long answer or short?” Exhaustion filled into her voice, making it flat and no longer angry like she wished it had stayed.

“Long.”

“Fuck. Alright, look, I don’t know. I’ve spent so long trying to understand how people want me to be, what their expectations are. I’ve spent so long realising how people want me to be just like Annleigh - A perfect little Christian girl with a perfect little Christian boyfriend-“ Farrah cut herself off, anger seeping into her voice, the exhaustion melting away. “I’m not like Annleigh, I’ve never been like Annleigh,” her voice was forceful, like she could harm him with her words. “I’m never going to be the perfect fucking daughter that everyone wants, so I don’t see the damn point anymore. I’m sick of acting how everyone wants me to act, it’s fucking hell.” Farrah drew a breath, unsure why she was spilling thoughts she’d spent over a year ruminating about to Clark. Farrah hated feeling vulnerable. “I feel like I mess up everything I touch, hurt everyone I know. So, I’ve given up. I’ve given up Clark, okay? I’m not the girl everyone wants me to fucking be, I’m a mess. I’m unfixable. There isn’t any point in trying, so I don’t, and I don’t know if I want to. And that’s terrifying. I’m scared that I don’t fucking care anymore, but I don’t. I don’t want to be okay.”

“Farrah,” Clark began tentatively, everything she said ringing in his eyes and playing in his mind. She sounded so broken. “There’s always point in try-“ 

“Shut up.”

Clark took a breath, he’d definitely have to go about it a different way. “Why don’t you want to try?” he asked finally. Clark knew Farrah but he didn’t know her well enough to always know how to ask the right questions.

Farrah rolled her eyes, but she replied, nonetheless. Clark’s presence felt more comforting, easier to talk to than others. “It’s worthless. I don’t really give a shit anymore, so there isn’t a point in trying. And besides, If I try, I’ll disappoint someone, and I’ve disappointed people enough.” Farrah punctuated the end of her sentence with a dry laugh.

“You haven’t disappointed me.”

“Don’t try, yes I have.”

Farrah was difficult to talk to sometimes, Clark admittedly knew, but he genuinely cared for the girl like a sister. She wasn’t much younger than him and only a little smaller, but he wanted the best for her, wanted to do the best for her – and he knew Annleigh did too.

“Have you tried to speak to someone?”

“Like… a therapist?”

Clark nodded. “They help.”

“Fuck no, they wouldn’t care, I’d be too much. And besides, why would I want to tell a stranger my problems.” Farrah went to stand up, the questions from Clark irritating and meaningless as her head pounded.

“No, Farrah, wait!” Clark jumped off the swing too, stopping her from getting any further, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and hoping she didn’t flinch from his grasp. Farrah would never admit how vulnerable she felt in the moment, but Clark could see the glimmer, the tiny hint of vulnerability behind her eyes, behind the mask of anger she threw on. “Talk to me, Farrah.”

“Isn’t this enough for you?” Farrah hissed. “You’re not helping, no one is helping,” Farrah shrugged herself from his grasp, but didn’t go inside. Instead, she walked back over to the swing, shivering as she tugged the coat off too, tossing it onto the grass.

“Don’t you care? Don’t you see how much this is hurting you, Farrah?”

“I don’t care, you know I don’t. It doesn’t hurt me,” Farrah spat, closing her eyes and willing the throbbing pain behind her temple that had just begun would stop.

“You should care,” Clark bit his tongue, he didn’t want to get angry with her. He wasn’t really angry, he was just frustrated, Farrah was a lot sometimes. “Let yourself be vulnerable.”

“If I do that, I get hurt,” Farrah replied, trying to keep from sounding defeated, despite how she felt.

“What’s really going on?”

“I don’t want to be like this forever…”

“I know you don’t.”

Farrah did want to feel better. She wanted to be a normal teenager like Annleigh, but she had been feeling so unhappy, so angry, so empty for so long that she struggled to recall what being a normal kid felt like. The only natural progression seemed to be to get worse, which she didn’t really want, but she also didn’t really care. Not wanting to get worse but not caring if you did was an odd combination and Farrah wished it was one or the other, so she could ask for help or she could drink and party and hurt her family without feeling the painful bite of remorse. She was still so young.

“I’m sorry,” Farrah spoke, her voice low, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t wanted to be. Farrah didn’t apologise often.

“Let’s go inside, okay? Face the music.”

Farrah nodded, grasping for Clark’s hand. In that moment, she didn’t feel hurt or pain, a need to drown out the angry voice in her head and numbness in her chest with alcohol and parties. She felt young and afraid, vulnerable and with her older brother for the first time in a long while.

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please! Tell me thoughts I will be happy.
> 
> -Jem <3


End file.
